Twisted Paths
by snh
Summary: The night before she is to marry Raoul, Christine makes a last-minute decision to return to the Opera House. Erik/Christine. Please read/review.
1. Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

_This story picks up after the musical PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. The characters do not belong to me. That privilege belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber._

* * *

The chatter in the chorus dormitory had finally stilled to silence as Christine twisted in her bed sheets. Sleep would not come. She had only to close her eyes to relive the events of the past two weeks.

The opening performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_ that was never completed. The chilling realization that it was not Piangi onstage with her. Her very public unmasking of Erik onstage, and how he had twisted her arm and dragged her offstage past Piangi's dangling corpse. The maniacal descent to Erik's underground lair where he had all but torn her clothes off to get her to put on the wedding dress. The dress, which was now discarded somewhere in the opera house and replaced with something "more appropriate," as Raoul had said.

It was late Thursday night. Many of the girls sleeping in the room with her would watch her wed Raoul on Sunday afternoon. Much of the last several days was a blur of meeting distant de Chagny relatives, choosing new dresses for her honeymoon (with much help from her future sister-in-law), and signing off on a barrage of wedding plans Raoul's mother had put together. And here she was only days from waking up to church bells and a new life. Her fingers reached for Raoul's ring now hanging on a chain from her throat.

Her thoughts raced back to her last moments with Erik. She closed her eyes and again thought of the kiss. It had been full of both desire and desperation as she crushed her mouth to his clumsy lips, while all the while painfully aware of Raoul suffering in the hangman's noose behind them. And then it was over. Raoul was freed and Erik was ushering them out. It had all happened so fast.

Christine sat up in her bed and looked around, grateful to be the only one still awake. Meg's bed was next to hers, and in the dim light she could see the girl's pale curls peeking out from under the bedding. Christine had come into the room the night Raoul rescued her feeling as if she were in a trance. She's simply gone and sat on the edge of her bed, but had heard Raoul's firm instructions to Meg: _Do not leave her alone, take good care of her, it's only for tonight._

Of course Raoul had truly expected them to run away together that night. After the boat had glided onto the other side of the shore in the Opera's catacombs, he had hopped out of and practically carried her up the stairs to the main levels. It has been awkward, of course. There were many short phrases of encouragement such as "watch your step," and "are you alright?" But he had not really looked her into the eye until after they'd safely escaped the commotion in the main hall of the Opera.

He'd lifted her into his carriage and shut the door behind him and disappeared for some minutes. There were people in the streets, throngs of both onlookers and audience members, and she was grateful that no one had noticed her presence in the carriage. Raoul returned and shut the door behind him, and the carriage began moving away from the Opera House. Christine stared at her feet.

"Raoul," she'd began.

"Christine," he sighed, his hands reaching for hers, which remained sitting limply in her lap.

She'd looked up at him then. "I'd like to go home tonight."

Raoul had looked quite puzzled. "To the chorus dormitories? I do not think that is wise."

She'd shaken her head. "I'll be fine there. Meg and I sleep in the same room and I truly am exhausted."

"Are you sure?"

She'd nodded and he dropped his eyes away from hers. The carriage changed course, and after leaving her with Meg, Raoul had gone. With little hesitation he'd agreed to let her sleep here in her bed, at least one more night. That night had turned into two, and then to three as they both got caught up in their wedding plans – Raoul in his enthusiasm, Christine in her distractions.

By now Christine was slowly pacing the edge of the room along the high narrow window while carefully trying to avoid waking the others. She remembered that long, painful first night. For a long while it had just been her and Meg in here. By the time that the other company girls had come in, Christine was in bed, her back turned to them, and feigned a fine impression of actually being asleep.

"She's exhausted," she'd heard Meg hiss at them when they began to ask questions. "Please girls, let us talk of it all tomorrow."

Christine thought again and again of Erik. Meg said she had led the mob down to his house. They had found no trace of him except his mask, which had been smashed along with most of the home's contents.

"What will happen to it all," she'd asked as Meg was helping her undress.

Meg leaned in and whispered, "I expect they'll take it all and burn it. But don't you worry about that. You are safe now."

Safe from him? Had he truly ever hurt her? Would he have? She looked down at her hands and thought about the ring he'd tried to give her. But why had she gone back to return it? To be more cruel?

She missed him. Maybe not yet, she decided. When he had just been an unearthly voice in her waking dreams, his impatience with her had sometimes meant that she might go for several days or even weeks without hearing him. She would be able to survive a few weeks, but…then what?

"Oh no," she whispered to no one, staring vacantly into the room's darkness. She'd made the completely right decision for everyone but herself, she realized. A new life with Raoul, she thought, perhaps even as his wife if he'd still have her. A new name, a new house, a new world. An idea that had only a few days before brought her great joy now seemed to still her heart to the point of not being able to breathe_._

_I have to find you_, she thought, and then realized how crazy it would sound if she were to say it aloud. But suddenly she was padding as quietly and quickly as she could to her wardrobe and frantically trying to dress without waking the entire floor. _If you are alive, if you will still have me, Erik, I choose you._ She smiled to herself as she found her garments. Yes, it did sound perfectly crazy, but it was the right decision.

A few minutes later, she was on foot, bound for the Opera House.


	2. Journey Down

When she found the stage door unlocked, Christine realized that she'd forgotten that there had been a performance earlier at the Opera that night. She padded quietly inside and was relieved that the backstage corridors were deserted. Her heeled boots clicked loudly down the hall as she headed toward the dressing rooms. When she reached her old room and tried the doorknob, it did not open. She swallowed hard, and then jerked on it again. This time the door shuddered open.

Christine quickly went inside, closed the door behind her, and looked around. The room inside was dark and still, and no lamp or heat source burned. The wardrobe stood open, its shelves bare and vacant. Her dressing table was empty, though the smell of the flower bouquets that had once been there still hung in the air. Christine anxiously turned to the floor-length mirror. The double glass faux mirror door was open a few inches and showed nothing but darkness beyond it. A breeze whistled from the corridor she knew waited beyond. She hesitated a moment, regretting her poor choice of light dressing garments and shivered, then stepped through.

The darkness waiting for her was surprising. She stumbled down the hallway, feeling her way along the crumbling wall of the corridor and cursing herself for not bringing a candle. After several minutes she began to worry that she might fall into the lake before she realized she'd found it. This was not the case. She heard her footsteps change from hollow to echoing as she reached the water's edge. Here a small amount of light reflected off the glassy water and she stopped, her eyes scanning the murky shore for the boat.

It was gone, of course, possibly destroyed and sunken by the mob that had come after Erik. _Had they spared nothing? If no stones were left unturned, had they spared him?_ She knew she had to find out, to find him, if he was still there. She began to remove her shoes and stockings.

The lake was colder than she'd anticipated and she moaned to herself in frustration, but a few yards from the shore she was relieved to be in water only up to her waist. She continued her slow pilgrimage across the vast underground lake for what felt like ages with the only sound being an occasional splash from her arms. She was exhausted when she made it to the other side. Shivering in her wet clothes, she staggered into the skeleton of Erik's lair. Here she smelled the remnants of a fire, and gasped when she almost stepped on several burned pieces of Erik's books. There were loose pages of manuscript, ripped and frayed bed curtains, and pieces of what looked like the pipe organ strewn about the floor.

"Erik?" she whispered hoarsely.

Her call was met with silence.

Christine began to panic, and frantically turned in all directions looking for any sign that he might still be here.

"ERIK!" This time she screamed, but was met again only with silence. She sank to her knees, her heart pounding, her previous determination dissolving into tears. She continued down to the floor until she was curled up on her side and began to unabashedly cry.

"I find it most ironic that the Opera Ghost is now met with a spirit sent to torment him."

Christine gasped, then hiccuped, trying to stop her tears as her hands flew up to bring her to a sitting position. "Erik?"


	3. The Letter

"Yes, spirit?" His voice was all around the room, and as usual Christine could not pinpoint his exact location. She shuddered at her core, blood pounding in her ears as she slowly stood and looked around.

"Where are you?"

Erik answered only with a sigh.

"Please," Christine breathed, "it really is me."

The wind stirred behind her ear and she thought she felt fingers graze her hair, but she turned and still found herself alone. There was a low cackle, this time seemingly from the doorway. She became frustrated. "Please don't taunt me, Erik."

"Can I not taunt you as you are taunting me, spirit?"

Exasperated, she began to claw at her hair, wracking her brain. Erik cackled again, and Christine's anger got the best of her.

"Goddamn it, Erik. I am not some spirit! It's me, Christine. Now please, show yourself."

Silence.

Christine was now beyond exasperated and shivering in her wet clothing, which was now dripping on the floor. "Fine," she said to no one, feeling ridiculous, and she stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her. Safe on the other side, she leaned against it for a moment in the darkness, then leaned down to peer through the doorknob's keyhole. The main room was just as it had been. Christine growled to herself in frustration, then let out a startled yelp as she felt someone take her by the shoulders and a hand clamped over her mouth. She screamed as she was dragged further back into the darkness and was prepared to begin biting when she heard his voice.

"Surely a real Christine would not be so unladylike to her host."

She felt her arms being released, and she wheeled on Erik in the darkness. "How dare you?" She reached out to slap him, but her hand met only the air. She whirled around and yanked the door open, light from the main room filling the place that had once been her bedroom. "Come out now!"

Erik appeared by her side. He was thinner than before, pale, and unshaven, but he still had his mask in place and appeared to be in one piece. Christine felt instantly overwhelmed with joy and fought the urge to embrace him, but instead tried to touch his arm. He flinched away from her grasp.

"Erik," she said, remembering her anger, "you scared me! I came down here worried about you, and—"

"You are disappointed to find me alive? I am sorry to have failed you again, my dear." He stalked out of her room and into the main hall, his back to her. "It is not in my nature to go off and die for a woman."

"I didn't think you would waste away pining for me," she shot back. "I've heard the most awful things about what could have happened to you, and I had to make sure you were safe."

He sighed. "I am. Thank you." There was a pause. "Don't you have somewhere to be this time of the night? Someone's arms, I suppose?" he sneered.

Christine thought of telling him the real reason she'd come here, but then suddenly felt foolish about the whole idea. Wouldn't he just laugh at her and accuse her of acting a child again?

"I'll go," she said. "I'm so sorry that my meddling disturbed you." She passed by him, heading for the exit.

"Why are you all wet?" he asked behind her. She stopped, her back to him.

"I went for a swim," she said, her cheeks burning.

Erik chuckled, and she imagined he'd seen the muddy pools of water she'd left on the floor.

"Indeed." He stopped a few yards from her. "Why?"

She turned to face him, frustrated at him for toying with her. "Because there was no boat!"

"Because there was no boat?" he asked. They stared each other down for a few moments, and then he cracked his crooked smile. Christine was mortified to hear a nervous, high-pitched giggle escape from herself.

Erik's smile deepened, his eyes on her face. "Of course," he said, and then his smile faded into something else, perhaps sadness. "Very well, come and dry off then. I will carry you back across if I have to. I believe there may be snakes in that lake anyway," and he disappeared into his room, leaving a horrified Christine dripping in the main hall.

* * * * *

"Why are you truly here, Christine?"

It was sometime later and Erik's question hung in the air between them. He was seated across from Christine in the remnants of his studio. Christine now wore dry, warm garments from the wardrobe Erik had once given her. A small fire in the grate between them kept her warm.

"We were to be married on Sunday," she began awkwardly, then glanced at the mantle clock. It was now after 2:00. "Raoul and I," she continued.

Erik nodded, and Christine felt his eyes on her. "I see," he said. There was a long pause, and she painfully realized he was waiting for her to continue. Instead she said nothing.

Erik leaned forward and poured himself a glass of port. "You really should return to him, Christine. If you were to leave here right now, your absence could perhaps remain unnoticed. You cannot stay here forever in hiding."

At this, Christine felt deeply embarrassed. Was her torment not to end? _Now he is to continue torturing me until I leave on my own accord,_ she thought. _Does he not realize that I am fully aware he no longer wants me?_

She shook her head. "I've made up my mind," she said.

"Well, then...I always find a letter to be the best answer," he said, a smile playing on his lips as he pointed over to his writing desk with his head.

She stepped towards the desk, her confidence waning. A box of stationery waited next to a freshly lit candle.

"I'll leave you to it," he said gently behind her, and then was gone.

_Raoul_, she thought. _God, how can I possibly say it all? _She sank into the chair and pulled herself up to the desk, the chair creaking in protest. She picked up a page, its blankness intimidating her. She sat for sometime, a thousand first lines running through her head, but little else. Finally, without hesitation, she picked up a pen and began to write.

_Dearest Raoul,_

_A good start_, she mused to herself, then forced herself to continue.

_I am_ – _no_, she thought, crossing out her words, and with that, she tore the sheet into two neat pieces and threw them to the ground, then reached for a fresh piece of paper.

I_ feel_ – _God, no! How melodramatic._ This sheet she crumpled into a loose ball. She began again on a third sheet.

_ Don't worry about me. I am with him. _

"Oh God," she moaned out loud, "I am such a terrible writer." She sat glaring down at the next blank page for some time. _Honesty, _she thought suddenly. _Honesty for Raoul._ She began scribbling furiously on a fresh sheet of paper.

_Raoul,_

_ You once told me that you and I had only each other in this great lonely world. You also said that you would do anything to make me happy. This would be so much easier if you were cruel to me or controlling or unreasonable. The truth is that you are none of these things. You are a good man, and you have shown me only kindness and concern for my well-being. _

_I do love you, Raoul. I always have, and I know that in a way, I always will. It is a pure love, one that cannot be broken, but that can also never be acted upon, most like a sister loves a brother. If you do love me as you have pledged, I must ask that you let me go. The truth is that for me, I am not alone if not for you. I never have been, for he has always been waiting for me. _

_ I wonder where you will be when you read this on the day we were to be married. I worry that you will be caught off guard reading it at breakfast among your aunts, or perhaps alone in your mother's garden. Please forgive me, know that I am safe, and permit me to try and find happiness beyond you._

_ Always,_

_ Christine_

Christine leaned back, her temples throbbing as a series of emotions washed over her. It was then she realized that she was no longer alone in the writing nook. She turned and found Erik standing over her shoulder. His face was indecipherable as his eyes moved from the page to hers.

"Christine."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_I'd like to spend some time offline fleshing this chapter out before continuing. Please bear with me. I am new to FF and prefer to spend time getting things right. If you get too anxious, feel free to check out my other story-in-progress, Récrire._


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